


bargaining

by zombeesknees



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 13:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17101148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: The rareand possibly onlyoccurrence of drunk!Pepper and sober!Tony. Set post-Iron Man 2. | Written many moons ago on LJ.





	bargaining

It had been a very bad day, preceded by a bad week.

Of course, the week—full of botched conference calls, cagey investors, and diplomatic fiascos—was a positive cakewalk compared to the last fourteen hours. The downward spiral had started at seven in the morning when Tony had taken a private call on what he’d begun calling his Superhero Hotline. She’d smiled and shook her head at his childishness, but when she saw the look on his face the fun went out of the moment. Because this wasn’t some silly Bat-line in a goofy Technicolor television program; the people who called Tony on that private number wore black suits and grim expressions and carried guns and if they were calling him at seven in the morning it had to be something serious indeed.

He’d hung up the phone, shook his shoulders as if to settle something more firmly over them, and turned to her with a cavalier smile. “Gotta nip out for a bit, dear,” he’d said casually, picking up his glass and tossing back the rest of his protein shake. “I’ll try to be back for dinner, but don’t wait up.”

“Is this national security, S.H.I.E.L.D.-type stuff, or can I know where you’re going?” she asked, following him down to the garage. 

“Sort of, kind of,” he replied vaguely. “Just some typical superhero shenanigans—gotta foil a mad scientist who’s cloning Hitler, stop an inter-dimensional warlord intent on subjugating New York, pick up Thor’s cape from the dry cleaner’s.”

“Tony,” she said.

The robots finished tightening the last bolt and he turned back to her, helmet under one arm. “Pepper, don’t worry, okay?” he said, pulling one of the wry half-smirks she loved so much. He looped a cold metal arm around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss that made her toes curl inside her stilettos.

“Save me some dim sum tonight, yeah?”

And then he was blasting out of the workshop, leaving her with a cold pit growing in her stomach and only Dummy to talk to.

\---

At exactly 1:57 PM the secretary burst into her office. “Ms. Potts! It’s Mr. Stark!”

“Yes, Samantha? Is he on the phone?”

“Channel 7, ma’am! There was an explosion in Chicago, and eyewitnesses saw Mr. Stark entering the building right before—”

But Pepper had already lurched out of her chair and run out into the foyer, staring up at the big screen television the rest of the office was gathered around. 

“…confirmed fatalities thus far,” the grave newscaster was announcing beside grainy footage of rubble and billowing smoke. “There have been several reports that industrialist Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, was seen in the vicinity just moments prior to the explosion. We’ve received several phone calls from bewildered eyewitnesses who also claim to have seen an Asian man in red robes, as well as the mysterious figure known only as Thor. There has been no confirmation as of yet, but this incident does seem to be connected to the government’s Avengers Initiative—we will have more details as they become available. Again, for those just tuning in, the Willis Tower in Chicago has been destroyed in what may be a terrorist attack—”

Pepper stumbled back into her office and closed the door with shaking hands. “Jarvis?” she hissed into her Bluetooth.

“Yes, Ms. Potts?” the lazy drawl of the AI was reassuring and familiar, cutting through the surreal fog.

“Connect me with Tony.”

“Technically, while Mr. Stark is away on Avengers business, I am not—”

“Connect me, Jarvis, or I’m driving straight to the house and ripping out your CPU.”

“One moment, please.”

Pepper leaned against the desk and stared at the single framed photograph she’d allowed herself in her sparse decorating. It was a heavy silver frame from Tiffany’s, a one year anniversary present from Tony. In it was a photo of them and Rhodey at a recent charity event; she was wearing the blue dress he liked so much. He was in a pinstriped suit with a dark red tie. Rhodey was trying to slip out of the picture unsuccessfully, a bottle of beer up to his lips. 

“Ms. Potts?”

“Yes, Jarvis?”

“I… Cannot reach Mr. Stark. It appears there is some damage to his communications system—I am only receiving static.”

She felt her knees quiver, and forced herself to straighten up and walk calmly to her chair. “But I thought you were linked to the suit,” she heard herself saying as if from a great distance. 

“Usually I am, but there have been new overhauls to the suit in the past two weeks, and Mr. Stark has not yet reconnected all of my servers to the Iron Man hardware.”

Probably because they’d promised Tony a three week vacation, Pepper remembered numbly. He thought he had plenty of time to tinker— _did you remember about Jarvis this morning, Tony? Did you know you were going out into a fight without his support?_

“So you can’t even tell? You don’t have the information?” she said weakly.

“I do not have access to Mr. Stark’s life signs at the moment, no,” Jarvis said. Did she hear pity in that plummy accent? Incredible. Was Tony really that good, that he could program sympathy into an AI? Or was Jarvis just as autonomous as she had always expected?

She clicked off the Bluetooth and picked up the office phone. “Samantha. I need the number for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. …Yes, S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

Twenty minutes later and she had exhausted her options. Agent Coulson was unavailable. Director Fury was in the field and couldn’t take civilian calls; no, not even privileged civilian calls, not unless it was a pressing issue of national security. Rhodey was just as worried and confused as her—he was in Iraq overseeing a withdrawal of troops. No, he hadn’t received a call from S.H.I.E.L.D., probably because War Machine was needed in the Middle East at the moment.

And so at 2:30 PM the CEO of Stark Industries informed her secretary that she was taking a half day and would not be available for any calls from the media—she was only to be disturbed if any news of Mr. Stark surfaced. With the niceties observed, Pepper made her way down to the parking level, slipped into her blue Audi, and tried to stop shaking long enough to drive back to the house.

\---

Three hours later and she was the drunkest she could ever remember being. This was worse than her twenty-first birthday; worse even than that night Tony had gone missing in the desert, when she had collapsed in her apartment with several bottles of wine and regret raging through her body.

She hadn’t really meant to drink. Dimly, she recalled staggering into the house, being greeted by Jarvis, and collapsing onto the couch. She’d clutched a pillow to her chest and tried to push away the terrible images her mind was creating. Tony pinned beneath rubble, his arc reactor cracked and leaking. A ripped-apart suit perforated with gaping holes from bullets too big for even reinforced titanium to repel. Blood and metal and rock and everywhere a thick, choking smoke…

Then she somehow made her way to the bar, fully stocked for any number of high society parties, and splashed bourbon and scotch into a heavy crystal glass. She remembered the burn down her throat and the false heat warming her from head to toe. The way the entire room began to blur and soften at the edges…

Now she was slumped against the wall of windows, her flushed cheek pressed against the soothingly cool glass, staring out across the choppy waves at the slowly sinking sun. It was all gold and red at this time of day, but the deep colors and the way they shone off the waves only made her think of that infernal suit she both loved and hated.

Tony never wavered: he and the suit were one. He’d repeated this for any number of reporters and interviewers and tribunals. There had been times when she’d gotten exasperated with him over this, arguing that, _it’s only a_ machine _, Tony. It’s something you built out of inanimate metal and computer parts. You’re a man of flesh and blood._

And he’d just smiled a knowing smile. It had been quite cocky, too, but then there was always a cocky air about Tony Stark. And he’d kissed her and rubbed her back and said, _It’s what I_ should _be, Pepper. It’s the best part of me, crafted out of titanium and steel. When I’m in that suit, I’m not a billionaire any more. I’m not the cad people remember from parties and award ceremonies. I’m a symbol of justice. When people see Iron Man, they’re not scared any more, because they have faith that he’ll do what they can’t. That he’ll help them._

She’d teased him about this speech. Said he was getting sentimental in his old age; accused him of developing a Savior complex. But he’d just laughed even louder and held her closer as the night darkened around them and the automated fireplace crackled into life. And she’d been happy, and proud of him, because he was finally the man she’d always believed he could be. And he was hers, and she was his, and in that idyllic, warm moment all of the dangers of this new life of his seemed eons away.

If that suit had taken him away from her, she was never going to forgive him. And she’d probably never forgive herself, either.

She was dozing off, lulled by the heady fog of the alcohol and the waning sunlight warming her back, when Jarvis’ sharp voice startled her back into wakefulness.

“Ms. Potts, I’ve just picked up a S.H.I.E.L.D. transmission. Mr. Stark is on his way home.”

“Oh, thank God,” Pepper said, struggling to stand. She was terribly light-headed, the flood of relief mixing badly with the alcohol. It took her several minutes, but she made it back to the couch without stumbling over the coffee table or tripping over her own bare feet.

“Would you like me to start a pot of coffee for you?” Jarvis asked solicitously. 

“Yes, thank you, Jarvis,” she said.

It was fully dark when she heard the roar of the suit’s jets. She set down the half-finished mug of coffee and stumbled towards the stairs before realizing that she probably shouldn’t attempt them in her current state. Instead she leaned against the wall, her weariness and relief naked as she heard the whirs and clicks of the robots unfastening hinges and latches.

And then Tony was rushing up towards her, smelling strongly of smoke and soot and sweat as he swept her up in his arms.

“You _bastard_ ,” she managed to mutter, head buried against his chest. “How dare you do that to me?”

He was smiling, she could _feel_ it, and it made her unreasonably angry. 

“I’m serious!” she cried, grabbing handfuls of his t-shirt. “Disconnecting Jarvis and no phone calls and the news said the Tower was destroyed and…”

“You’re drunk,” he said, surprised.

“I’ve got a right to be,” she said. “It stopped the shaking.”

“I’m sorry, Pepper,” he said quietly, brushing back her copper hair and kissing her forehead. “I’m a bastard, I know I am. I would have called if I could have; I’m sorry I worried you. But I’m okay, I’m home, we’re fine.”

“And what about next time?” she demanded, her voice shrill and hoarse from the scotch. “What if you get yourself blown up properly next time? What then? Am I supposed to be grateful for whatever award the government gives me in your name? Should I just keep running Stark Industries, give out scholarships in your memory, come home to your ghost?”

“Hundreds of military families do it every day,” Tony said softly. 

“But you’re not a soldier, Tony! You’re not! You’re a playboy with a great ass and a sexy smile and… and… You should be drinking martinis and rubbing elbows with actors.”

“Would you really prefer that?” 

The somber tone threw her off balance. She looked up at him, met those dark brown eyes properly, and realized through the haze of alcohol that no, she _didn’t_ want that. She could have never been happy with the old Tony. The old Tony only thought of himself, an eternal thirteen-year-old in Armani suits and Bulgari watches. That Tony wouldn’t understand her; wouldn’t have thrown himself in the line of fire to save her life. 

So was this the downside? The one blemish on her relationship with one of the most desired and admired men in the world? She could have the man and the prestige and the money and the beach house and the fancy gizmos—but she had to be willing to give him up when the world called. She could have the new and improved Tony Stark — but only at the price of Iron Man.

“You’re an idiot sometimes,” she said finally, wearily.

“And you need some sleep,” he said with a fond smile. 

He helped her undress and slip between the sheets before disappearing into the shower. She drifted in and out of awareness, startling awake out of a half-formed nightmare full of smoke with her heart throbbing against her ribs. But before she could marshal her thoughts and recall the dream, his arm was sliding across her waist, pulling her in closer. She tucked her body against his and took a deep breath, taking in the scent of his skin and the soap in his damp hair, and remembered that she was strong enough to accept whatever the future brought.

 _Just give me more nights like this,_ she prayed to whoever was listening. _Let me have a million more moments like this._


End file.
